Your desire like a hall of mirrors
by HelveticaBrown
Summary: In response to a tumblr prompt. This contains mind-reading and naughty office shenanigans. What's not to like?


_A/N: So I said I'd probably never write plotless smut again, but apparently I'm a big old liar. This was written in response to a prompt from hazel-sunset on tumblr:_

 _Could you write a piece where Regina can suddenly read Emma's mind and she discovers Emma is either attracted to her/in love with her (or both). She's first shocked but after processing it, realizes that she feels the same way and decides to tease/seduce Emma._

* * *

Regina has never had any particular desire to know what other people are thinking. For much of the last forty years, she suspects that the majority of thoughts in her presence could be more than adequately summed up under the general categories of _Die, Bitch Die_ and _Please Don't Kill Me_.

She is absolutely certain that she never needed to know that Victor Whale has an extensive collection of cross-stitch samplers depicting scenes from the Kama Sutra, or that the secret ingredient in Granny's Extra Special Burger Sauce is actually Ogre sweat. She makes a mental note to never order the burger at Granny's again.

Unfortunately, she now knows all of these things, as well as a range of other things about Storybrooke's townspeople, ranging from the mundane to the deeply disturbing. This is all thanks to a magical accident yesterday involving who else, but Emma Swan.

She also now knows that the Blue Fairy had been the kingpin in a major drug-smuggling operation back in the Enchanted Forest. And she'll be damned if she lets that shady blue bitch start up business again and bring down property prices in _her_ town.

This last piece of ill-gotten knowledge is the pretext for calling the Sheriff into her office for a special after-hours meeting. Or at least, that's what she's telling herself. It has absolutely nothing to do with the very specific and detailed set of images that had wormed their way into her brain when she had run into Emma earlier in the day.

The fact that she is perched on the edge of her desk wearing the exact outfit that had featured in some of those images also has absolutely nothing to do with anything.

And neither does the way she says, "Hello, Sheriff," her voice low and gravelly, when Emma throws open the door to her office, looking particularly cranky.

Emma stands, her arms folded, just inside the doorway. "This had better be good, Regina. I had plans tonight."

"Oh, I promise you, it will be good, dear. Better than good," she says, her voice almost a purr.

Emma finally seems to take notice of her, and Regina doesn't need to be a mind reader to know that she's very thoroughly being checked out. She is, though, so what is filling her head is a rather graphic stream of profanity and half-formed ideas of what Emma would like to be doing right about now. There's a brief flicker of confusion in there somewhere, but it's quickly drowned out by other thoughts.

"What's this about, Regina?"

"Please, take a seat, Sheriff, and we can discuss why I've called you in."

As Emma sits down, Regina slips her blazer off, slowly, her shoulders pushed back so that her blouse is straining across her chest. "It's rather hot in here, Sheriff, don't you think?"

"I guess so," Emma mumbles.

"The air conditioning shuts off after hours," she says, conversationally. "There's no one here but us, and it would be a terrible waste of electricity to keep it running."

She puts her blazer down and then starts to undo her cufflinks, before rolling up her sleeves, exposing her forearms. Emma is watching every move intently, and Regina takes her time, making a point of tracing the line of her forearm with her other hand. Her hand continues in its path until it reaches the neckline of her blouse, and she deftly unfastens two buttons.

"That's a little better."

Emma clears her throat.

Regina uncrosses her legs and slides off the desk. "I have something I'd like to show you." She walks over to the filing cabinet and bends over, taking her time, looking through the files in the bottom drawer.

She knows without turning to look that Emma's eyes are glued to the curve of her ass, that she's sitting in her chair crossing and uncrossing her legs, and that her hands are clutching the arms of the chair like it's a lifeline. She knows that in Emma's head, those hands are actually sliding carefully down around her hips over the fabric of her skirt, mapping out the shape of her ass. And then the touch grows firmer and Emma is kneading her ass, her hands strong and insistent, and then her skirt is being hiked up around her hips and there are fingers skimming the insides of her thighs.

And Regina can almost feel those hands, and she _wants_ to feel them. _Needs_ to feel them. Her breath is coming a little quicker now and she bites down on her bottom lip, and she's not sure how much longer she can keep playing this game for, because it's suddenly all feeling very real. There's a tight, aching feeling deep in her belly and it just keeps intensifying with every thought.

"Sheriff, I need your help with something over here."

"What do you need me to do?" Emma says, and her voice is thick.

Emma's mind is a mess of want and iron-willed control, and control is winning out at the moment. _Just._ She's close enough that Regina could take half a step back and she'd be pressed firmly against her.

She closes the drawer and straightens up, her back still to Emma, and says, "I need you to be touching me, right now." It's supposed to be an order, but it doesn't quite come out that way. Instead, it comes out needy and vulnerable and wanting. And then Emma is touching her, and she doesn't care anymore.

Emma spins her around and she's being pressed back against the filing cabinet and then Emma is kissing her, deep and fierce and needy. She moans as Emma sucks her top lip into her mouth and she's hooking her fingers into the belt loops on Emma's jeans, pulling her hips in closer until she can feel the press of Emma's revolver, hard against her hip.

Roving hands are finishing the work she started on her buttons and then they're beneath her blouse, seeking out lace and skin.

Her mind is swirling mess of want and need and want and need and she's not sure which parts are coming from Emma and which are coming from herself. There's a niggling sense of guilt though, and as Emma kisses her neck, she says, "Stop."

And then Emma is pulling back, breathing heavily, confusion all over her face.

"Emma, I need to tell you something. That thing that happened yesterday, well there was an unexpected effect. I can read minds and that's how I knew about this."

"Oh." Emma frowns, taking in this information. "I did kind of wonder why you used a few lines that may have featured heavily in some of my daydreams."

Regina grimaces. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this."

There's curiosity on Emma's face now. "I'm thinking of a number. What is it?"

"Seven." It's always seven, Regina has discovered.

"I have an item in my head. What is it?"

Regina rolls her eyes. "It's a bearclaw."

"And what am I thinking right now?" Emma's eyes suddenly take on a predatory cast and Regina sucks in a breath that doesn't feel like it's quite enough to keep her brain functioning.

She swallows thickly before responding. "You're thinking that you want to fuck me on my desk."

And then Emma is walking her across the room and she sits on the edge of the desk as Emma peels her blouse off her slowly. And with a deft movement, her bra soon follows, and eager hands are cupping her breasts. Her skirt is hiked up around her hips and Emma steps in between her legs, spreading them further apart.

Emma raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. "No panties, Regina?"

She gasps as Emma runs a hand teasingly up her inner thigh, stopping just short of where she needs it. "After many years in public office, Sheriff, I have come to greatly value efficiency."

Emma is laughing as she leans forward to kiss her again, and then she's tracing a path down the line of her throat with her mouth, nipping at her collarbones, before sucking her nipple into her mouth. Regina can't stop the moan that is torn from her throat, and she's tangling her fingers in Emma's hair and thrusting her chest forward, wanting the sensation never to stop. Emma rakes teeth across her nipple and it's an exquisite kind of pain. Then she's being pushed back onto the desk, one of Emma's hands pressing her down, holding her there, and the other stroking a firm path up her thighs.

There are fingers finally dipping down into her wetness, inquisitive, searching and she can sense Emma's surprise and delight at what she finds.

Then Emma's fingers are slipping inside, burying themselves deep in her cunt. And she feels like she's in a hall of mirrors, lost in the endlessness of it all. She can feel pleasure that is all her own as Emma's fingers pump in and out of her, and she can feel Emma's desire, feel the insistent throb that grows stronger, more intense every time she cries out, every time she bucks her hips up to meet the thrust of Emma's hand.

Her eyes are closed, but she can see herself through Emma's eyes, see the details that Emma does, like the bounce of her breasts with each thrust and the arc of her throat as she throws her head back. The way her teeth bite down hard on her lower lip as she tries to find a way to anchor herself in this moment, in the intensity of it all.

Emma is fucking her harder, faster. Her breath is coming quick, ragged and she's urging Emma on, a stream of words spilling from her lips that she's not actually sure make sense. And then, finally, there's a thumb slipping, sliding across her clit with every thrust and it's everything she needs. She tries to cling to the depth of pleasure for as long as she can before it's too much and she falls over the edge into oblivion.

Emma is already trying to touch her again, but she shakes her head and catches her hand. She can feel Emma's need, can feel the staggering intensity of her arousal filling her head and she wants nothing more, can't think of anything more, than satisfying her right now.

She makes short work of Emma's clothes, enjoying the sight of small, firm breasts and toned arms and thighs as she exposes them and blonde curls at the apex of her thighs that she can see are already glistening with her arousal. She kneels before Emma and swipes a path with her tongue from her cunt to her clit. Emma gasps. And then she thrusts her tongue deep into Emma's cunt, tasting her, savouring her. She can hear Emma begging, and she's not sure if it's in her head or out loud, but she knows what Emma wants and she gives it to her, her tongue swiping with firm pressure across her clit.

And she can feel how close Emma is, can hear it in the incoherent babble in her mind. It's all _yeses_ and _pleases_ and _fucks_. The sensation of Emma's pleasure sweeps her up and it feels like there's a cord of liquid heat running between them, binding them together and she can feel an answering throb in her own clit every time her tongue presses against Emma's. She reaches down between her legs, stroking in time to the swipe of her tongue, and Emma's pleasure is building and building and so is hers and they come at the same time, her own cries muffled as she continues to lap at Emma's clit.

When she finally can, she stands up, and Emma pulls her in close, pressing against her, her lips at her ear.

"What am I thinking now?" Emma whispers.

"I suspect it's the same thing that I'm thinking."

* * *

 _A/N:_ _I don't actually think that Emma would respond that way to Regina's confession. But really, what do I know? I'm just a filthy purveyor of porn._


End file.
